Date: Mon, 3 Dec 2007 00:44:33 EST
From: Glaucon55@aol.com
Subject: Please Post Punk Kids No. 7
Punk Kids: or Brent's Big Boner
October 16, 2005
Disclaimer:
If you are not yet 18 years of age, or if it is illegal to read materials
of this kind where you live, then please stop now. This story is for
adults, and contains descriptions of sexual activity between teenage boys
initiated by them and with older men. This story is completely fiction, all
descriptions and names are also made up, and any similarities are truly
just that, purely similarities. I do not engage in or condone sexual
activity between adults and teenagers which is regulated by law. These are
fantasies for sexual private sexual enjoyment, not for emulation in real
life.
I would appreciate comments on my writing which may be a bit rusty. I
certainly admire the good writers on the web, and consider myself still a
learner. Please contact me at glaucon55@....
Chapter: 07 Trapping Brent
Brent McDermott stood in his room dressed only in his baseball cap, his
jock, leggings and his socks. He had fantasized about Amy walking into his
room in one of those black negligees he'd seen in a Victoria Secret catalog
that Darryl Romberg had brought on the team bus on one of their road trips.
He imagined her licking her lips as she stared at his perfect body and
bulging jock, and then envisioned her crawling up his body dressed as he
was now, and him fucking her senseless. But those fantasies only gave him
a nut ache, and made his leaky prick soak his jock or briefs. So he tried
as much as possible not to go there too often. As he swung his bat staring
at the handsome, sexually powerful image in the mirror, his cock started to
get stiff anyway. Christ, he had not come for three days, trying hard to
keep himself for Amy on the weekend even though his prick was driving him
crazy, and the sight of his own body made his prick lurch. He couldn't
understand it, but whenever he was alone, staring at his gorgeous face with
those sexy dimples and his hairy, teenage form, he would spring an
erection. He chalked it up to blue balls, but at the same time, he admired
every inch of his own frame, just as much as the girls at school did.
When Brent was thirteen he used to masturbate in his age group baseball
uniform of the time, staring at his reflection as he lay in bed facing the
mirror on his closet door. Two years later watching his hand slide up his
thick prick when he masturbated, and staring at his own handsome image,
gave him almost as much excitement as the thought of slipping his boner
into Amy's sticky cunt and having her milk the sperm out of him. With a
guilty look about his room, to make sure no one was watching him through
his window, he grasped his semi-hard prick through his jock, and licked his
tongue over his full, beautiful lips. His cock drooled a bit of boy sap
wetting the inside of his pouch, and he groaned as he squeezed one last
time and let his randy teenage pecker go.
The boner problem was getting worse and worse. He had even spoke to the
youth priest in confession last week about the problem. He figured he did
not go to confession all that often, and hell, some old priest would not
recognize his voice...it was a way to see if he could get some free tips on
how to control his libido. Of course Brent did not know that the deep
voice on the other side of the screen was Father John Richardson, just 33
years old, and full of surprises.
From his days as an altar boy, Richardson had found ways to suck and jerk
the penises of both priests and parishioners. At thirteen he had jerked
off Aaron Stern while they sat in their altar boy uniforms to the side of
the altar during a service. His hand had slipped under the flowing white
gown, and as the homily droned on, he had released and then fisted the
other boy's ever-hard bone till he squirted his sap into a Kleenex wrapped
around his fat knob. At fifteen John had been seduced by a young novice
priest, whose smouldering good looks and deep blue eyes had caused him to
melt into submission. Each time they met, the Priest would strip him
naked, sit him on his lap, and pluck his nipples as he palmed the boy's
overheated prick. Many a time, the young priest had milked two or three
ejaculations from the young Richardson, much to the boy's delight as he
grunted and whined on the young priest's lap. When he was in seminary, he
found ways to seduce the horny, young men whose transition from secular to
religious life was difficult at best. In particular he recalled a young
hunk from Wisconsin who had played football in high school before a short
stint in the Army. Carey Carlson would feign sleep and allow John to slip
his hands under the bedding in the room they shared once the lights were
out. Then John could explore every inch of his roommates firm, muscular
body. Many a night, Richardson would torture his young friend, searching
out every sensitive place on his body, then slowly masturbating his fat
knobbed prick, teasing it, and milking it with agonizing deliberation until
the sweaty balls would launch wad after wad of the sticky, viscous sperm.
The room would be filled with the familiar stench of bleach from Carey's
huge ejaculations. On occasion he would continue to milk the young novice
who would not admit that he was awake, making him writhe a bit on the bed
as his sensitive prick was worked cruelly after the explosive cum. More
than once his persistence got another load from Carey's always full balls.
But they never once talked of what occurred, and later when they separated
and said their good byes, it was as if nothing had ever happened in the
room at night.
All these experiences had prepared Father Richardson for the role he was
about to play in the saga of Brent McDermott's ever stiff boner. The good
Father had modified the screen in one of the confessionals so that it could
be removed if necessary. In addition, while the screen on the parishioners
side obscured any sightlines, on the priest's side it offered a clear view
of who was sitting there. Already, Father Richardson has managed to suck
the cocks of a seventeen year old street punk whose mother insisted that he
go to confession, a Marine back from basic training whose long hairy legs
and thick cock resulted in confessions weekly, and two young fathers who
swung more ways than their wives realized. Each of these men thrust their
hips against the screen and flattened themselves against the partition to
force their throbbing pricks into the wet, hot mouth of the voracious
priest. Moreover, Richardson had persuaded younger boys, as part of the
confession, to demonstrate their masturbation that they were confessing.
As these boys performed what they thought was a private reenactment for
God, the good Father was watching intently and rubbing his own leaking
penis to an explosive ejaculation as these boys from thirteen to fifteen
wrung several healthy young loads from their hard peters.
When Brent arrived at the confession booth, Father Richardson thought he
had scored a bonanza. There before him in dress slacks, dress shoes, a
dress shirt and tie was fifteen years of male perfection, big and with a
masculine if vulnerable sexuality. Once Brent was in the booth, Father
Richardson got what he wanted.
"My son, what can I help you with today?"
"Father, forgive me, for I have sinned."
"God will forgive you my son, what have you done that requires the Lord's
forgiveness?"
"Father, I have urges and needs, and I have sinned by, ah, by, well, you,
know, giving in. I couldn't help myself father."
"My son, perhaps you should tell me exactly what you did, or what happened
to put your soul in jeopardy."
"Ah, well, if I have to, okay, I guess I can tell you, huh, Father."
"Yes my son, the church has provided you with a shelter, a place to protect
your soul and redeem yourself. Tell me what has happened, and we shall see
what we can do to ensure your grace."
"Well, it's like this Father, I really like this girl at school...her name
in Amy."
"Love is the virtue of youth and a gift of God, is this your sin my son?"
Father Richardson knew that Brent had something more private to share, he
had been through this drill with other straight teenage boys. But he
wanted to calm any fears, and gradually lure Brent into his snare.
"Actually Father, it's not just that I like Amy, it's that I get feelings
when I think about her...you know, guy feelings."
"Ah, you mean you have the lust of Adam, and the wants of a man with a
woman? Well son, God has made you as a healthy male. You will mature into
a virile man, and you will marry and plant your seed in your wife, and will
procreate as God and the church intend so that our Christian community can
continue to grow and be strong."
"So you don't think its wrong if I, ah, you know, get an erection?" Brent
blushed in his cubicle, not realizing that Father Richardson could see him
clearly. Brent reached down and adjusted his slacks, even talking about
Amy and erections, made his unruly penis begin to fill with blood, the fat
knob, begin to itch. Even as he spoke to the screen earnestly, his big
left hand began to unconsciously knead the swelling prick.
Father Richardson, watched as Brent began to absently massage his swelling
prick knob, trying to relieve the ticklish itch. "My son boys your age are
supposed to achieve regular and constant erections. No doubt your virility
and normal sexual desires make you even more susceptible to constant
erections. Tell me, when do you get them, and what do you do when you get
them. Tell me about the last week, in detail."
Brent squeezed his eyes shut, and his sweaty palm increased the speed of
massaging his now rigid boner. "Fuck" he thought, Father was going to make
him go through his problem chapter and verse, and he wasn't going to be
able to just skim over the details. Shit, he was lucky no one could see
him, aaaaagggggghhhhh...." he groaned under his breath as his fingers
stroked the feverish prong, now beginning to leak in his cotton briefs.
"Ah, okay Father, well, let's see, since last week, I guess I've been
having erections every day, sometimes more than once. Is that what you
need to know?"
"Okay my son, so you have had erections each day, how did you deal with
them...tell me."
("Oh fuck," Brent thought..."here it comes.") "Well, I guess I do what most
guys do Father, sometimes I take a shower and try to ignore `em, and then
sometimes I jerk... ah, I mean, I masturbate." Brent grasped his boner
firmly, letting his thumb slide back and forth over the aching knob,
squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for Father Richardson so respond.
Sweat was gathering under his arms, and beads were beginning to appear on
his forehead.
"My son, your seed is a gift of God, it is precious. It should only be
shed or spread under the guidance of the church. Tell me, how many times
you have masturbated this past week, and under what circumstances. I will
tell you how we can address this problem, once you fully disclose your
conduct."
("Oh shit.....") "Gosh Father, I guess the first time in the last seven days
was last Saturday. I woke up on Saturday morning thinking about Amy, and
with, you know, an erection. Everyone else was downstairs, so I just
rolled over and began to grind my penis into the bed. Gosh father, that
felt sooo good. I just kept screwing the bed, and grinding my penis into
the sheets. But I was afraid I'd make a mess, I always seem, you know, to
shoot a lot of cum...ah, I mean I ejaculate quite a bit of sperm, so I turn
over and use one of my gym socks."
"Were you naked under your sheets my son, and what did you do with the
sock? (Richardson smiled, knowing that his probing questions would only
make Brent more uncomfortable, and his prick grow harder). Is the sock
part of what you use when you masturbate. Do you grasp your erection and
begin stroking yourself? And how do you use the sock?"
("Fuck...!) Yes, Father, I was naked...I often sleep naked or just in my
sleep shorts. I didn't just start stroking...I have the sock under my
mattress, so I slipped it over my bon... I mean my erection, and cause I
make a lot of natural lube, I just started to stroke the sock up and down."
Brent could not help himself, he unzipped his pants and slid his hand into
his briefs, grasping his thick penis, and sliding his rough finger pads
over and round the bloated knob, now sopping in its own juices.
"So you produce a great deal of pre-ejaculate...and you used that
pre-ejaculate to lubricate your penis inside the sock, and then allow the
sock to provide an artificial sleeve into which to masturbate your penis
and shoot your sperm."
"(Oh Chirst....)Yeah, Father, that's how it happened." Brent's fingers
danced over and tickled the aching tip of his fat prick.
"How long did it take you to achieve your ejaculation, and what were you
thinking about, please be specific. Do you have a special technique that
you use when you are masturbating your penis?"
"Aw gee Father, do we have to talk about that?" By now, Brent was kneading
his penis firmly, thumbing the leaking prick knob, making it tingle and
tickle, squeezing his eyes shut at the ticklish sensations racked him.
"Yes my son, I need to know how far you have traveled down the road of
self-abuse. For example, do you touch other parts of your body?"
("Mother fucker.....") "Ah, yeah, father, sometimes."
"Where, and what do you do, now we need to have you stop procrastinating,
and give me the details."
"Yes, Father, well, I also play with my nipples." Even as he spoke, with
his eyes closed, Brent stretched his long legs out and slouched on the
confessiional bench. His left hand continued to maul the thick tube and
blunt knob of his erection, but his right hand reached up and tweaked his
left nipple through his shirt as he described what he did the previous
Saturday morning in bed.
Father Richardson was gratified by what he saw. His own 7.5 inch boner was
rigid in his pants, and was itself leaking into his briefs. He reached
down and unzipped his slacks, and slid his hand inside and extracted his
throbbing erection. With a sigh of satisfaction, and a stifled groan, he
rolled his fist up his penis, over the tip and back down, picking up the
drops of pre-cum, and smoothing them into the tingling flesh. Struggling
to keep his voice normal, Father spoke to Brent, "Go on son, tell me what
you did...."
"Aw...jeez Father, this is so hard (not realizing the play on words as he
rubbed his stiff boy pecker), I lay on my back, and I plant my feet and
bring my knees up so I have some leverage. Using one hand to play with my
ah, nipples, I slide the sock up and down on my penis with the other. I
kinda like to rub the head, but not too much cause its so sensitive
(Father's erection burped more pre-cum as he listened to Brent's
description), so I kinda stroke and then roll the sock over the knob real
quickly, then go back to my shaft." As he spoke, Brent looked furtively
around the cubicle as if to see if anyone could see him, checked that the
door was locked, and then using both hands, pushed his pants and briefs to
his ankles. His freed, thick 8-inch cudgel curved hard toward his stomach.
The moment his fist closed around the knob of his boner, his eyes closed
again and his other hand went up reflexively to unbutton his dress shirt so
he could slip his fingers inside and tweak his nipple directly. Now Brent
was on auto-pilot, his thick fingers doing what boys' fingers across
America and the world do when their sexual heat gets high, frigging their
boners and playing with their big, hunky bodies. His legs were stretched
tautly out in front of him, and his body jerked each time his rough palm
slid over the sensitive tip of his raging prong. It took all his
concentration not to betray what he was doing when he spoke to Father
Richardson. Little did he know that he was giving the Father a fabulous
show, of slutty teen masturbation, by an All-American jock hunk.
"Is this a full description of how you touch yourself my son, just your
nipples and your penis? Or is there more...?"
Brent gasped as his fist slid over his cock head, and he yielded one last
detail that almost made the good Father ejaculate on the spot. "Well, I
sometimes rub a finger against my anus Father, I know it's a dirty thing to
do, and I know that men don't play with their asses, but it feels so
strange, and good, I just can't help it. I don't do anything else, unless
I'm in the shower, and then sometimes I slip my finger inside to maybe the
first knuckle. But when I am in bed, I just tickle my pucker once in a
while, then go back to my tits...I mean my nipples." By now, Brent was
furiously wanking his big boy bone, sliding his fist up and over, circling
his palm around the bulging knob and twisting his fist around it to induce
more lubricant to bubble up and out of the wide piss lips. The fat plum of
his cock head was being chaffed by the rough skin of his palm, and the
rigid stalk, curved and hard, shone with the slick juices of his boy sap,
leaking from the knob and wetting the shaft as his fist slid up, over and
down. Each time his palm raked over the apple of his oversized prick tip,
his body jerked and he squeezed the rubbery stiffness of his teats to
distract him from the sensation.
Now it was Father Richardson's turn to maintain his self-control as his
fist slid up and round the turgid pole jutting from out of his slacks. He
had been blessed with a thick penis, with a bulbous knob and deep piss lips
which filled with his leakage. So with his feet were planted wide and his
torso slightly slouched, his mature fist kneaded the tingling rock hard
cock. He was so experienced masturbating in the confessional, he did not
need too much adjustment to shoot a thick, juicy wad of priest cum. Making
sure he did not gasp and almost biting his lip, he spoke again to Brent:
"What were you thinking my son, let us rid you of these impure thoughts,
reveal them so we can deal with them...." Father squeezed his eyes shut as
his rough fist and palm tortured the fat plum of his wet glans, now fully
slick with his own leaking pre-fuck.
Brent was in no better shape. He was not completely slouched, his feet
turned outwards, his pants and briefs at his ankles, one hand twisting his
nipples, sending shocks through his prick, and the other hand grinding the
fat knob and stalking of his boner, milking it ruthlessly. "Father (he
croaked, then whispered), I know I shouldn't think impure thoughts, but
hell...I mean heck, I can't help it. Every time I see Amy I think how soft
her skin is, and how perfect her mouth is, and how much I want to make love
to her....we've made out and...you know, she's so wet and her tits...I mean
her breasts, there so sensitive. I just can't keep her out of my thoughts,
and when I was jerking I kept thinking how nice it would feel to slide my
prick...I mean my penis, into her. I swear Father, I think we're gonna get
married some day, so it's not like we're committing a sin. Cause someday
we're gonna be husband and wife and it'll be okay...but I can't hold it
Father, I need to cum, I mean to ejaculate sometimes, and it feels so good
when that sock is working over my penis like it was Amy's pussy...I mean, oh
jeez, you know what I mean Father........." At that moment, Father Richardson
watched as Brent balled one fist and stuck it in his mouth after tweaking
his tit one last time, and then gripping his raging prong just under the
head, rope after rope of sticky boy juice squirted from the bulging glans
and piss lips. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven streams of cum
bolted from the big teen prick, wetting his chest where his shirt had
spread. This fourteen year old hunk was a sperm factory already, and his
cock had basted his chest up to his nipples, only his own thumb preventing
him from shooting scum up to his face. At the same time, Father
Richardson's own twitching penis squirted five long streams of sticky man
cum across the cubicle, his mouth open, taking his breath in pants as he
watched the beautiful boy masturbate his boner into submission. Both both
and priest shuddered and then fisted their overly sensitive prick knobs.
Unlike Brent though, Richardson had years of experience in controlling his
response to the overwhelming feelings that fisting a bloated prick head
after an ejaculation could cause. As he wrung his hand of the starchy,
sticky fluids, he spoke to Brent who was using a tissue from his pocket to
wipe off his hands, and sop up as much of his cum as possible, while
avoiding the achey, itchy knob of his penis.
"My son, you are to keep your hands off your penis! (he spoke with deep
sincerity and gravity) I'm sure there were more times this past week you
played with your penis, and more times that you spilled your sacred seed.
You don't need to describe them, or to deny that you did it. We both know
that you did. (Brent slumped in the next cubicle as if he realized the
priest knew him too well) God gave you your male member to impregnate a
wife and to produce children in holy wedlock to continue mankind. You must
not waste your seed on adolescent self-abuse and impure thoughts. Let your
penis stay hard, let it leak in your pants if necessary. If it twitches
and leaks from deprivation, it is the restraint of purity. If it aches
rubbing against your briefs or against the sheets at night, remember that
God knows if you are engaging in sinful and lustful onanism. But if you
find that you cannot control your urges, you are to return to me and this
confessional, and we will deal with your problem discreetly and privately.
I will minister to you directly. Do you understand my son?" Say
twenty-five Hail Mary's and pray for forgiveness. Now go home, take a cold
shower and keep you hands away from impure activities."
Brett blushed deeply again, realizing how stupid he had been to masturbate
while he was in the confessional, and hoping that he had cleaned up all the
evidence in the darkened space. What if the Father had detected what he
had done? But he was fortunate, he'd gotten away with it since no one
could see him. Now he would try to follow the Father's instructions. He
would struggle to control his urges to masturbate, even when his prick tip
tingled and leaked. If he needed help, he would consider coming back to
Father Richardson. "Father, thank you...I feel much better. I'll do what
you asked, and if I have problems, I'll let you know. Thank you Father,
thank you very much." With his clothes in order, and his prick beginning
to shrink, Brent slipped out quietly as the priest smiled. He knew if
Brent did what he was told, he would see him again soon. No fifteen year
old boy with a body and cock like that could resist stroking himself.
Father Richardson felt sure he had another conquest.
As Brent left the confessioinal cubicle, the air smelled strongly of sperm.
But Father Richardson still had another two hours to provide relief to
sinners, and he knew at least one other teenage boy who would be coming in
to slide his fat boner through the screen for some special attention. He
licked his lips and waited in anticipation.
Johnny Sets up Brent
Unwittingly, Brent was trapped by his lust for Amy and his desperate
struggle to control his prick. At fifteen, he wanted nothing more than to
stroke his penis into submission if he could not thrust it deeply into a
hot, clinging cunt. But he could do neither. Amy would not let him into
her pussy yet, and Brent's strict upbringing had made him turn to the
church and Father Richardson's advice on how to manage his teenage
hormones. Nothing could assist Johnny more in his quest to gain control of
Brent's body. Brent's unrelenting horiness would become Johnny's foil. He
would use that weakness to push Brent into a situation from which he could
not escape, and he would become the master of the older teenage boy's
remarkable teenage penis.
Johnny began, by tracking Brent's every personal move. One Saturday
morning when he saw Brent leave for baseball practice he took his chance.
He went next door and asked Brent's mom if he could go up to Brent's room
and borrow a basketball. Brent's mom knew Johnny's mom, and had watched
Johnny grow up next door. It never dawned on her that there was anything
untoward about Johnny's request. As she went down to the basement to
continue with her laundry, Johnny raced upstairs to Brent's room. The room
was surprisingly neat, like Brent. The bed was made, and even though there
was baseball gear on the floor(bats, balls, gloves, uniforms, gym bags), it
was organized and stacked carefully. Johnny quickly went to several
locations, two in the bedroom, and two in the adjacent bathroom. There he
installed remote cameras and microphones. He also went to to Brent's
computer, and although it was off, he was able to attach a device to
Brent's DSL connection. Time was passing, and he had to get out of the
house before Brent's mom came upstairs and found him. He went to Brent's
closet and found a basketball, and as he was turning to leave, he saw
something on the floor near the hamper that made him stop. It was one of
Brent's used jock-straps, and a pair of soiled leggings and baseball socks.
Impulsively, Johnny scooped them up and stuck them under his jacket. Then
he raced downstairs, and through the kitchen door as he heard Brent's mom
coming back up the basement steps to the kitchen.
When he got to his bedroom, Johnny closed the door and hauled Brent's
clothes out. He thrust the crusty pouch of the jock strap under his nose.
The starchy scent of testicles assaulted his nostrils and he inhaled
deeply, his dick going hard with the thought of Brent's balls full of boy
sap. Then he picked up the socks and sniffed the soiled toes, stinky with
boy toe sweat, but not raunchy or rancid. These treasures would inspire
Johnny until he was able to have Brent in his hands. He put the stolen
items into a shoe box and slipped them under his bed for use at night
before he went to sleep. Then he went to his complex computer, video and
audio set up to ensure that the remotes he placed in Brent's room all
registered on his apparatus. Within minutes he had everything set up to
record Brent's toilet, his shower, his bed, and a panorama of the room. He
also could pick up any sounds in the room or bathroom. He set his system
to activate on motion or sound. The trap was about to be sprung.
Brent was sitting in the back of the van on the way back from practice.
The guys were goofing off, talking trash---but Brent was leaning against
the window staring intently out the window, trying to will down the
erection in his uniform. His big, hairy hand was kneading the aching prong
trying to force its way to full erection in spite of his best efforts.
Fuck, when he sprung a boner in his jock, his dick would get strangled
first, but its size and strength would eventually lead to the damn thing
protruding outside his pouch and now he was leaking onto his hairy leg,
making the fat knob itch from the bristling contact. He could not get Amy
out of his head...he wanted to get home, get showered, and take her out to
the movies tonight. He needed to cum, and he did not care whether it was
her soft fist or some hot action---maybe (he prayed, and his cock lurched)
a blow job, but he needed to get off TONIGHT!
When he scampered out of the van and said a quick good-bye to the guys, he
sprinted through the front door and up the stairs to his room. He vaguely
heard his mother saying something about Johnny borrowing something from
him...but he could have cared less. All he wanted to know was how long it
was going to be until Amy's soft lips were on his, and her soft hand was
tickling his fat prick knob until he squirted a gallon of boy jizz. He
closed the door, and grabbed his cell phone from the dresser and made a
call, and then as he breathlessly waited for Amy to answer, he began
kicking off his sneakers, and peeling off his clothes.
As he stripped down to his jock strap, socks and leggings, Brent forced the
tight strap down and allowed his throbbing erection to spring out, its fat
tip already wet and sticky from emissions during the ride home. When Amy
picked up the call, Brent's fist slid slowly up and down his penis, milking
out more pre-ejaculate, lubricating his fist as it allowed him to relieve
the tension. And as he started to talk, as he worked the teenage boner
cautiously, Johnny's cameras and microphones were in action.
"Am, jeez, for a second I didn't think you were gonna pick up...when are we
meeting tonight?"
"Brent, I've got some bad news...I've come down with a low fever, but my mom
won't let me out...she says I have to stay home and rest. I tried to tell
her we would not be out late, and we would stay indoors, but she said no.
I'm sooooooo sorry baby, I was looking forward to seeing you...but my mom
won't budge."
"Awww cripes, damn, I was really hoping we'd get together tonight, I've
been looking forward to it all day," Brent's fist slid up his rigid pole,
and palmed the leaking glans, making him shudder even as he controlled his
voice into the cell phone. "You think you might be feeling better
tomorrow?"
"Even if I am, our family is driving out of town to visit friends, that's
why my mom is so unwilling to let me go out tonight. She wants to make
sure I'm feeling better for tomorrow." Amy bit her lip, and her other hand
kept moving under her shorts and panties. If Brent only knew that Amy's
beautifully manicured index fingernail with its red polish was rubbing
lazily back and forth over her engorged clit before it dipped down to slip
between her labia to gather some sticky juice to keep her finger-pad
lubricated, he would have ejaculated immediately. The very place he needed
to soak his fat prick knob, Amy was teasing while he masturbated in burning
frustration. Two horny teens, talking so innocently to one another, and
both were on the verge of a huge climax. "I gotta go baby, mom is calling
to me and I can hear her coming upstairs. I'll talk to you on
Monday. Maybe we can get together Monday night and go to the Library, after
your practice and dinner. Call me Sunday night...miss you."
Brent made his good bye, professing his undying love, even as he nursed his
unrelenting lust. The moment he ended the call, he groaned out loud as his
fist continued to slide slowly over the sticky helmet of his raging boner.
"I fucking need to cum...." he croaked loud enough for him to hear, but no
one else in the house. What he did not know, was that Johnny was recording
every movement and every sound.
Brent reached down under his bed, and out came a sock. "I can't fucking
wait, I can't... sorry Father, I can't hold out....I need it bad, and my
girl's not available to help my blue balls, I need to shoot my crud and I
gotta do it now..." Every time Brent spoke, Johnny was carefully listening
and recording. But Brent pulled a surprise that caught Johnny off guard,
but would open an even more satisfying opportunity. "Aw Christ, why did I
have to say `Father', fuck, I better call him, Jesus Father, you better
have a good idea, cause I'm not gonna wait till Sunday unless it's really
good, and my balls stop aching."
Brent picked up his cell phone, and called the cell phone number Father
Richardson had given him if he needed any assistance coping with his
"problem." He hadn't called yet, much to Richardson's regret, but he was
about to get a stunning surprise and an opportunity to do more than watch
one of the hunkiest teens in the community.
Brent waited as the number rang, impatient that the call would be switched
to message, and he wouldn't get through, when suddenly it was picked up:
"Hello, this is Father Richardson, can I help you?"
"Hey Father, this is Brent, Brent McDermott, you remember I came to
confession a few days ago, and we talked about a personal problem?"
"My son, I gave you my phone number, but you did not give me your name.
Perhaps you can help me by recalling our discussion, or your problem."
Father Richardson recognized Brent's voice, but he wanted to make the boy
humiliate himself, and admit to his needs.
"Ah, Father, it was kinda personal, something I'd rather not discuss on the
phone, but maybe we could talk this afteroon before dinner...I could come
down to the church and we could meet in the confessional. Would that
work?"
"Brent, I hope you don't mind if I call you by your first name, would this
be about the sin of masturbation, and difficulties you were having
controlling your urge to play with your penis?"
There was a silence, and then Brent spoke slowly and reluctantly. "Yeah,
Father, that was me...I'm having a real problem, and before I go astray, I'd
really appreciate your guidance." In the meantime, Johnny had sprung a
full boner of his own, listening to Brent and Father Richardson. The
moment the priest began to speak about masturbation, Johnny began to knead
his boy prick, and work the inflamed knob. The Father and Brent had been
discussing Brent's masturbation! Holy Shit! And now, Brent was going down
to see Father Richardson, to talk with him about it some more. He listened
as the two agreed to meet in forty-five minutes, and in the confessional
booths at the far end of the church. There was only one thing for Johnny
to do, get there first.
Johnny grabbed some of his electronic devices, and flew downstairs, telling
his mom that he had to get to Darren's house with some school work
immediately. He jumped on his bike, and flew down the street, only five
minutes away from St. Mary's. He locked his bike around the corner, and
then made a discreet, quiet entrance to the church. He scoped out the
sanctuary, and saw where the alcove where the confessional was located and
the priest had directed Brent to go. Quickly and quietly he worked his way
to the alcove. He noted that the cubicles where Father Richardson and
Brent had agreed to meet were currently empty. The Father on duty was at
the other end of the aisle, and the door to the booth in which the
confessor would sit was open. The priest was on his own, and the privacy
gave Johnny the time and cover he needed. It took him ten minutes, but he
was able to place a remote camera and speaker into the confessional booth
behind where the priest would sit, and then another in the confessor's
booth that would capture the small panorama of the cubicle. He wanted to
make sure to get Brent's face, as well as the words between him and Father
Richardson. Little did he know that he would get much, much more, and that
it would feed perfectly into his plans for Brent. Johnny made sure there
was no one in the alcove, and as quietly as he slipped in, he slipped out,
getting back on his bike, and heading home. He needed to be ready to
capture the intimate details that Brent would be sharing with Father
Richardson, information that he hoped would help. But what was about to
happen would not only help Johnny, it would provide a venue for some of
what he had planned for Brent.
As Johnny raced home on his bike, his still erect prick was rubbing madly
against his shorts, torturing the burning knob, and making him leak like a
sieve. When he arrived he ditched his mountain bike in the garage, and
sprinted upstairs to get to his computer, monitors, and speakers.
At the same time, Brent was walking down the street to get to St. Mary's
and Father Richardson. He had showered quickly, all neatly captured on
Johnny's equipment, especially when he soaped and massaged his long, thick
cock, unable to keep himself from playing with the big prick and working it
into a tingling erection. But in spite of massaging the soft, lubricating
suds over his raging boner, and plying the sensitive glans, he finally
wrenched his fist away from his cock. He got out of the shower, dried
himself and dressed casually, so he could get to Father Richardson and what
he hoped would be a miraculous relief. The clock was ticking, and even as
Brent walked his big boy penis was still leaking, soiling the clean white
briefs and causing it to chaff the sensitive knob. Soon, Brent McDermott
would lose control of the cock which was the center of his teenage focus,
and the object of his frantic efforts for sexual relief.
To be continued...I appreciate all the comments I have received since I
began posting this story. Since this is my first written work on my own in
two years, I will continue to look forward to hearing from you.
Glaucon55@aol.com